Disclaimer – hey guess what? All characters so far are JK Rowling's!

Author's Note – Yeah, it's another 'what is it like in Snape's head' fic. With some adventure and stuff, too, but at the moment I'm just focusing on Snape's character. He's fascinating because he's apparently got all the traits of a villain and yet on the side of good... and so gives us a way to look at the nasty bits of ourselves without driving us into insanity. Snape's case can only be defended by a few ways: by making excuses for his villainy by giving him a bad family history, by playing up his good points, or by revealing his bad characteristics in a way with which we can sympathise. I've attempted to do it the last way. I don't want to make Snape nice, just take him as I find him and find out who I've got in the end – good guy or bad guy. Because – philosophical point – there's a Snape in me. There's also a Harry, and a Hermione, and a Ron, but everyone gets to see them – they're popular. Who wants to see Snape?

Please Review. Now... on with the fic!

Snape's Redemption

Chapter 1 – The Task

Snape watched the students of Hogwarts gathering, for the final part of the Triwizard Tournament. Even if he had been a person inclined to do so, he could feel no joy, no ripple of excitement at the champion's last task. Under his midnight robes, the mark burned his arm once again, and he slunk back to his dungeon, to be alone in his office.

Startling even himself, Severus Snape found tears in his eyes. It was painful, indeed, but even the Cruciatus curse could not bring tears from him now. A silent part of him knew the reason behind the pain - the mental, not the physical. The mark was a terrible reminder of his past, the things he had done willingly for the Dark Lord. The innocents killed.

He had hurt so many of the people who cared about him... now no one cared about him and that was because he did not let them. Why shouldn't they know him for the evil creature that he was? He felt like a cage harbouring a monster, waiting to escape. He detested the creature inside him. And mingled with his self-loathing was that old habitual fear of his former lord – and the new fear that now his disloyalty would be discovered, and his life would be in danger. But what did he care about that? He didn't deserve his life.

'Severus...'

Snape looked around, to see Karkaroff, the head of Durmstrang, standing by the door, his face clouded over with the signs of similar pangs that he himself was feeling.

'Karkaroff.'

'You feel it burning, don't you?'

Snape gritted his teeth, and nodded. He wondered what the head of Durmstrang planned to do. Return? But he would most likely be killed. Did he want some kind of support in this? In staying or going?

But he turned away. 'Severus... I cannot go back. I am going to leave – give my apologies to Dumbledore – and hope that he doesn't find me.'

He strode out, not waiting for a reply, or offering an invitation. Snape cursed his briskly retreating back, silently and angrily. That coward was going to do what he'd never do – flee.

He would never flee – yet why did he want to run after Karkaroff and ask to be allowed to go with him? He knew that the Dark Lord would find them, but maybe together they would have a better chance.

The mark continued to burn – but why? What was he planning? What could he be planning, when he must be so weak? And who would be waiting on him, that repulsive Sirius Black? How ironic that it should be his worst enemy from his school days who would be discovered to be serving the same lord he himself had once bowed to. Snape arose, determined to tell Dumbledore all. He walked, slowly and deliberately back to the Quidditch pitch, and made his way up to the teachers' seats.

Once he was out in the open again, he realised some chaos had ensued. The Beauxbatons student and Durmstrang student were out, but Diggory and the annoying Potter were nowhere to be seen. Minutes later, he was on the pitch with the gathering horde of students and teachers, McGonagall desperately trying to keep order.

'Minerva – what happened?'

She whirled around as if he had startled her, wide-eyed and on edge. 'Severus… Potter and Diggory… the cup was a Portkey.'

Although she spoke these words almost unintelligibly, in a rush of breath, Snape understood what she meant. It meant they did not know where Potter and Diggory were – that someone had rigged the contest so that they would be apparated away as soon as they touched the cup. And Potter being the Dark Lord's most famous adversary… Snape frantically searched the crowd for the headmaster. This could not be a coincidence.

Dumbledore was crouched by the place where the cup had been – surrounded by a group of teachers. Madame Hooch, Hagrid, and Professor Sprout were all elsewhere, but the others, all in varying states of hysteria, were talking to their headmaster. Moody was at the front of it all, and unlike the others, his sober face was calm. The sight of him made Snape shiver, another nasty memory rising to the surface. It was his trial as a Death Eater – the sight of Alastor Moody, grave, furrowed brow, and his eyes full of hatred.

He pushed to the front. 'Headmaster, I need to talk to you.'

Dumbledore looked up. His eyes were as Snape had hardly seen them before – anxious, concerned, unsettled, and full of a melancholy knowledge of what could be to come. Their sadness reminded him of his headmaster's eyes from when he was just in his twenties – when he had confessed to him that he was serving Voldemort.

'Yes – of course Severus.' He spoke as if he knew what was coming – what Snape was going to say. Dumbledore stood up, and Snape moved closer to him so that only he could see the mark on his arm when he pulled up his sleeve. 'It burned me tonight – Lord Voldemort wants me by his side. Karkaroff has fled. And Potter…'

'Yes, Severus,' Dumbledore said, his voice heavy. 'The situation at hand is a grim one. I can only hope…'

Suddenly, Potter appeared among them once again – bloody, pale, and clutching the dead body of Cedric Diggory in his arms.

It was several hours since Potter had reappeared – since Professor Moody turned out to be the younger Barty Crouch. The tension he had felt around Moody all year seemed grimly humorous now… he wanted to laugh at himself with a harsh empty laugh – why had he not seen it? Because he was too afraid of Moody. He was pathetic.

Professor Dumbledore summoned Snape to his office after Potter had told him what had happened. It was nearing one o'clock, but Snape had already realised, with a nauseous certainty, there was a long night ahead.

Severus Snape seated himself, as his headmaster collected his thoughts.

'Severus, you need to know what Harry Potter saw when he took the Portkey. It was, indeed, a plot of Voldemort.'

Snape nodded grimly.

Dumbledore went on. 'Mr. Potter… witnessed the rebirthing.'

In a rare display of emotion, Snape's face flared with horror. 'Surely not?' he burst out, shocked at the implications of these words.

The old man nodded, slowly, and part of Snape understood that within him was the same deep shock. 'Severus – Mr. Potter told me that he saw the Death Eaters. He heard Voldemort's speech.'

Snape shivered, and commented, 'The Death Eaters were by his side… They all returned, except me.'

'And Karkaroff, apparently. He referred to three missing Death Eaters – one who remained loyal…'

'Crouch,' Snape said softly.

'One who had left forever…'

'Karkaroff – or me.'

'One who was too cowardly to return.'

Snape felt chilled – his hard heart was ice. He knew what the Dark Lord did to cowards and traitors. And he knew that the one Lord Voldemort was referring to was he.

He nodded, his anxious lips pressed together so hard they had turned pale. And understood what he must do.

'Professor – I have been your spy once before… and…' His voice was breaking up, the words stumbling on his tongue. He mentally shook himself. Don't act like a fool, Severus Snape.

Dumbledore's eyes met Snape's. 'That is true Severus – but the risks are higher this time. I cannot require that of you again – you have already proved yourself.'

'No – Headmaster – I will do this. You have my word I will do all I can to fight Voldemort – this is the best way…'

That same look of sadness and concern filled the headmaster's face. Snape slowly realised that of all people, Dumbledore actually cared about him. He had been a grandfatherly figure struggling to save him from the evil path he was walking when he had been just another Slytherin student – now he was trying to stop him from taking the task that would probably cost his life. 'Severus, you know I cannot ask that of you.'

'My mind is made up.'

Dumbledore saw that it was. He was filled with a bitter sympathy for his potions master. How could Snape bear such a burden when he would let no one help him?

'Very well. Do not go just yet, though. I should like to take full stock of the situation at hand, and enlist the help of as many people as possible. I shall ask Cornelius Fudge...'

Snape snorted in derision – Dumbledore nodded.

'Come with me to the Hospital Wing.'

The Potter boy was asleep when they got there – half of his sleeping potion was gone, the other half still in the goblet next to his bed. The old, galling hatred rose up again, he could almost taste it in his mouth like vomit. Of course, the famous Harry Potter would have this treatment. No one had cared what one Severus Snape had seen, what ordeals he had endured, what pain he had suffered.

He shook the clouds from his head, and looked at the sleeping boy with fresh eyes. He didn't turn away. He didn't give up. He brought back the dead body of his team mate – would you have done the same, Severus?

It was too much. He tore his eyes away from the sight of the slumbering celebrity, who had endured a nightmare he knew nothing and everything about.

And then – the fool Cornelius Fudge, the arguing – it went past in a blur. And the black dog was Sirius Black,it appeared Dumbledore believed his story too. Snape was angry, although the real anger was not at Dumbledore being fool enough to accept the story of that lowlife, but because he knew that Dumbledore didn't trust people lightly, and he had to respect that trust, and would not be allowed the indulgence of having Black as his enemy for any longer.

And then – then, Dumbledore had told him it was time. It was surreal and he was hardly aware of his own actions... His own footsteps echoed like distant noises, his shadows mingled sociably with the shadows of the hallway, as if they had nothing to do with him. Hogwarts was ghostly this time of night, the walls seemed misty and insubstantial. He hardly watched to see where he was going, instead he was drawn down that path he must take, washed along like a leaf in the rapids, forced on in that inexorable flow with no choice of his own.

Soon he was outside, the sky moonlit and silvery, the air crisp and just a little too cold. He pulled his cloak further around him, and walked onward, out of the castle grounds.

Now was the time. He took his wand and, taking a long, slow, final glance of Hogwarts in farewell, disapparated.

And found himself staring straight into the eyes of Lord Voldemort.